


Tylko Człowiek

by RaindropsOnMyLake



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Kaer Morhen, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23977627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaindropsOnMyLake/pseuds/RaindropsOnMyLake
Summary: Jaskier looks human and he feels like one too. When he feels sad, he cries until his voice is hoarse. When he doesn't eat for days, he feels hunger gnawing in his stomach. But steel can't kill him. Hell, evensilvercan't kill him. But perhaps, this witcher might.Or, Jaskier is an immortal being that is on a quest to figure out what the hell he is and found a witcher by the name of Geralt along the way that he took one look at and decided, "Yup, that's the one." Also goes into a little character study of Immortal!Jaskier and his past.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 62
Kudos: 323





	1. Chłopiec

**Author's Note:**

> First time in the Witcher fandom. Wish me luck! I don't have a beta so all mistakes are my own. I played the videogames and have watched the show but I'm using the books and tv series as a main base.

Snow covered the ground and the light of the evening sunset fractured through individual ice crystals. Barren grey trees pushed their way through the thick blanket of snow and in a small clearing, a hooded man prodded a crackling fire. Two rabbits were roasting steadily over the fire, their fat dripping down into the flames.The tips of the man’s hair peeked out from underneath his hood, an aged mahogany, rich and deep, gently reflecting in the light before him. Brilliant cerulean eyes crinkled in mirth as the man stared ahead. 

“I can hear you back there. Might as well come on out.” He said towards the silent forest. His voice was melodic, calm in an almost ethereal sense. Breath billowed out from his lips, quickly dissipating in the cool evening air. Not a sound had been heard since he set up camp, but the man smiled nonetheless. He didn’t need to hear someone to know they were there. A few more moments passed before the soft crunch of snow approached him. 

A young boy stood behind the man, voice shaking slightly as he spoke. “You’re not supposed to be here.” He said. Even without turning around, he could hear the sharp draw of a blade. The man closed his eyes briefly. _So young._

____

____

“I’m just passing through.” He responded.

“Barmin didn’t mention anyone passing through.” The boy said. The man paused in his ministrations with the fire.

The knife that rushed towards him didn’t even make it halfway. Suddenly, the boy was on the other side of the fire, brown eyes wide in confusion. The man hadn’t even moved. An unnatural wind pushed the boy backwards and he landed with a muted thud on the soft ground, staring up at the unknown man; his blade now in the stranger’s hand. 

The boy couldn’t have been older than eight, his small body lean and gangly limbs were pulled taut with muscles from what was without doubt, rigorous and unrelenting training. Dark hair curled around his ears, dusty from his tumble with the ground and slightly damp from the snowfall. The child scrambled to his feet, taking a defensive stance with his hands raised in tight fists.

The man seemed to be trying to hold back laughter from where he sat. “Sit. Have a rabbit.” 

The boy scowled at him. “I’m not hungry.” His stomach rumbled traitorously in response. His face flushed with embarrassment and he looked away.

The man chuckled, unable to hold back amusement, holding out one on a stick as a peace offering. “It’s too much to eat myself.” The boy stared suspiciously at the man and neither made a move. That is, until the man finally tossed the blade down on the earth beside the boy. Then finally, _finally _, the boy took the rabbit.__

____

____

They ate in uncomfortable silence and the boy’s wary eyes had never left his face. The man offered a smile, it had been a long time since he talked to a child. Hell, it had been a long time since he’d even _seen _children. “What’s your name?” He tried asking.__

____

____

The boy _growled _at him.__

____

____

A clump of snow fell from above straight on the boy’s head, too accurate to be a coincidence. The man waggled a finger at him, “You know that’s very rude.” He sounded almost affronted, if not for the humor still glimmering in his eyes. The boy shook the snow free from his hair, glancing up at the branches above them accusingly before turning his glare at the man. “C’mon, a name now.”

The boy gulped down a chunk of rabbit before answering. “Don’t have one.”

The man stared pointedly at him. “Don’t have one or don’t like the one they gave you?” The boy paused and glared at him before resuming his meal. 

“...’s not like there’s a point.” The child mumbled.

The man waited patiently for him to continue.

“They think I’m a kid,” _You are. _The man mused but he remained silent. “So, they don’t tell us. But we know. All of us.” The boy lowered what was left of his meal down. “...I heard only three out of ten make it.” He said quietly. The boy’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears but his voice remained steady. “Doubt I’ll be one of them.”__

____

____

The man hummed in response. “You’ll make it.” The man hadn’t even touched his rabbit and it was beginning to go cold. 

“I wanted to be a teacher y’know.” The boy said wistfully.

The man nodded. “You’ll live to be one.” 

The boy merely scoffed. “I can’t even beat Varin. I’d be a shit teacher.” The boy’s face scrunched up at a memory. “Even though I'm pretty sure he cheats.” The man laughed loudly. The boy didn’t smile but his lips twitched slightly. “You don’t look like a witcher.” The boy observed.

The man waited for his laughter to die down before turning his gaze from the boy towards the fire, prodding it with a stick. “That’s because I’m not one.” He said with a snort.

“You a mage?” The tension thickened considerably and the child spat the word ‘mage’ with such vitriol, surprising for his young age. 

The man paused. “Not..exactly?” The small hand reaching towards the dagger made him back track. “Wait now, it’s a bit hard to explain.” The boy raised an eyebrow as if to say, _Try me _. The man sighed before continuing. “What do you know about mages? People who use magic.”__

____

____

The boy’s voice was bitter and cold as he spoke. “They are the ones that hold the trials.”

_Ah. _That explains the hatred.__

____

____

The man coughed awkwardly. “Well, they have to use words to use magic right? It is impossible otherwise. It sounds like gibberish but it’s actually called _Hen Llinge _. Or Elder Speech as most people call it.” The boy nodded slowly. The man spread his arms out and grinned, “I don’t use words, hence, not a mage.” The boy’s eyes furrowed in confusion, trying to find the words to explain how that was definitely not right.__

____

____

The boy’s mouth opened to speak before the man interrupted him quickly, “I’m not a mage. I never went to any school for magic and I have nothing to do with the ones in your castle.” 

The child eyed him with scrutiny before speaking, “...I guess you’re right. You aren’t pretty enough to be a mage.” 

The man choked in indignation. “I beg your pardon! That is so _rude _, what do you mean not pretty enough! I’ll have you know I happen to be very pretty!” The man said defensively.__

____

____

For the first time in a long time, the boy laughed. Pure and sweet, with an innocence that only a child could have and it rang through forest like cascading wind-chimes. The birds that had been otherwise silent, chirped happily at the musical sound of his laugh as if it was infectious. Despite the incredibly scathing blow he was dealt, the man smiled. 

The otherwise cold forest felt warmer than before. For the first time in a long time, the man wondered what it would be like to travel with people. A comfortable silence had settled between the two of them before the man broke it.

“You know, you never answered my question.” He said. The man took in the subtle features of the boy who frowned at the topic, but the lines in his face weren’t as harsh as there were before, so he pressed further. “Your name can’t be that bad.”

The boy’s face twisted into another scowl before the man could continue. “I hate it. It’s stupid. I’d rather have any other one.”

It was strange how a young voice sounded so vicious. The words left the man before he even realized he was speaking. “I can give you a new one.” The boy stared at him as if he’d grown another head right there in the clearing. 

“That’s not how it works.” He said, frowning in confusion.

The man smiled warmly. “Humor me.” The boy looked down instead. 

“Okay.” His voice was barely a whisper, soft and trusting.

When the man spoke again, there was no difference in the tone nor the breath between his words. But the energy that swirled around him twisted and snaked through the deep roots of the mountain, seeping into the very foundation of the castle at its peak. “You will pass the Trial of the Grasses and live to be a teacher so I hereby decree. There will be pain in your life, ones so great that you think will break you but you will live. From this day onward, you will live as _Vesemir _.”__

____

____

The boy’s eyes widened in awe. “Wha-” The tolling of a bell interrupted the two of them. The boy paled in horror, “Oh no, I’m late!” He shot to his feet, immediately taking off towards the castle, before he caught himself suddenly and turned around.

“I...I never caught you name.” The boy _-no- _Vesemir said softly.__

____

____

From where the fire had melted the snow, a patch of dandelions peaked through the cold. They swayed slightly in the breeze. The weed stood out unnaturally, too persistent, too bright, and in the wrong place. The man turned towards his rabbit but the meat had gone cold a long time ago.

“...Jaskier,” The blue-eyed man said, “My name is Jaskier.”


	2. Dobry Człowiek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An immortal and a witcher walk into a bar...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh thank you so much for all the positive response! I didn't think anyone would actually read this haha so the comments and bookmarks surprised me! I keep re-reading each comment and smiling, there's even one or two that have me laughing out of my seat! Please leave comments, they are so wonderful! Also, it lets me answer any questions you have about the story! Anyways, this story jumps right into our pair meeting and I really want to focus on their travels together. But I have added a heavy dose of backstory to Jaskier and most of it is angst. (hehe) There's a few minor lore appearances and if you are a bit lost are please feel free to google them as they are real places in the world of The Witcher, if abeit tweaked for the story. I use Polish as a base for Elder Speech as there is not a fully release language for it. (Not one that I could find, if anyone knows please don't hesitate to contact me)

_A powerful voice rang through the woods, young yet unafraid. "No more truces, no more elves on bent knees," she cried, and hundreds of voices rallied to her call. Their thundering voices shook the grass beneath them as they hollered in unison,“This is elven land. We will take back what was stolen!” The crowd roared in approval, eager to sharpen their weapons to fight for their people. Their leader turned around, walking towards the war tent pitched in the center of the camp. Every step was filled with resolution as she readied her people for battle. Her hair, as golden as the rising sun, swayed gently behind her; a loose braid falling down her back._

_As she entered the tent, she was greeted by her generals, muscles taut with agitation and with their hands wrapped tightly on their weapons, glaring at a newcomer standing silently in the corner. His hands were folded peacefully in front of his body and his hair, a familiar elven braid, rested motionlessly on his shoulder._

_“Aelirenn.” The man greeted. Her generals snarled in response._

_“How dare you speak to the Commander in such-” One of them began before the elven woman waved his complaint away. They looked incredulously at her, “But he’s a human!” The same man growled._

_Piercing, emerald eyes stared steadfast ahead into deep blue irises. The woman, Aelirenn, huffed softly. “He’s not.” She said, pity creeping its way into her voice. “What are you doing here, Jaskier?”_

_The man looked forlorn, deep sorrow etching its way into his face. “Don’t do this.” He said quietly. “Please.” Shadows crossed his face, a marker to all his sleepless nights._

_She chuckled humorlessly. “You sound just like the elders.” Soft hands made their way towards the table, glancing over the map and tracing the border etched in the parchment. “You could help us; you have enough power to level the Continent if you wanted to.” Her voice, accusatory as it was, was raw with envy and bitterness. The man recoiled like he’d been physically struck by her words. Her generals, if it were possible, tensed further. She collected herself immediately, regret lingering at the edges of her face at her loss of composure. “It would be the lesser evil.” Aelirenn said softly, eyes not moving from the map._

_Jaskier shook his head, his long hair swaying gently with the motion, “Evil is evil. Lesser, greater, it’s all the same,” He said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. Even without looking at her, the man knew her expression had hardened. He would not choose one massacre over another, he could only try to prevent them. “I can only try to convince you not to do this.”_

_“I am the White Rose of Shaerrawedd.” Her voice, restrained and calm, held no tremor in her conviction, “What good is that title if I can’t even defend my home?”_

_“You can run. Go far away. Rebuild and get stronger.” He begged._

_Silence greeted his pleas._

_“You’re going to die,” Jaskier croaked, closing his eyes before tears could blur his vision._

_Her hands tightened so hard into fists that the skin of her knuckles turned white. “Then at least it will be with honor.” She gritted out. Her generals nodded with grim determination._

_Gods, they’re so young, he thought agonizingly. Jaskier drew in a shuddering breath. “I can’t help you, no matter how much I want to.” Her beautiful face was marred by the sneer that graced it as she spoke._

_“Then leave.”_

Jaskier awoke with a start, tumbling off his bed onto the hard floor of the inn. He let out a pained grunt as his shoulder hit the ground. Instead of getting up he simply laid there on the floor, groaning. How long had it been since he had that dream? _Not a dream. A memory_. He could hear the innkeeper yelling that it was time for his performance the man sighed inwardly. 

_Gods, it was going to be a shite day._

He wanted to lay there for the next century or so, and damn all who tried to move him. Ignoring that _extremely_ tempting idea, he rose unsteadily to his feet. His bones creaked in protest as he stretched his arms out. He ran his fingers through his sandy hair, fingers halting momentarily at the short length, before eventually pulling away. The bard grabbed his lute and sauntered down the hall. Music always helped clear his mind and people loved hearing him sing.

Loved was a strong word. 

“Unbelievable,”He pouted as he picked up a piece of bread that was flung at him; the other patrons of the bar cursed his poor choice in song. It worked for the last city though and Jaskier made a mental note to do some probing before deciding on a song. He stuffed a few more pieces into his doublet; no reason to waste perfectly adequate food. 

His eyes scanned the room non-committedly until he saw a figure, dressed fully in black, sitting quietly in the corner.

_Oh_. Jaskier felt his heart stutter as he studied the man. After centuries, there was very little that surprised him. But seeing a man surrounded by Destiny was a surprise indeed. It poured out of the man every breath he took. His hair was the color of fresh snow, so white despite the obvious daily coat of grime. And his _eyes_. Slitted eyes bored into the wooden tablet with such intensity that Jaskier was surprised there wasn’t a hole in it. There were as golden as the plentiful wheat fields of Temaria, and for a moment, Jaskier was whisked back into that peaceful field. 

Beyond that Jaskier could feel the presence of a _good_ man, so strong that it almost knocked him clear off the ground. It had been so long since he’d felt it, the unwavering feeling of simple and utter _goodness_.

He tried to keep the excitement out of his voice as he approached. “I love how you just... sit in the corner and brood.” Jaskier said, presenting a genuine smile. Golden eyes narrowed in annoyance as the bard beamed.

“I’m here to drink alone.” was the raspy reply. His unfriendly expression reminded Jaskier of someone, but he couldn’t remember who. The sensation tickled the edges of his mind with feather-light touches. 

The bard nodded in affirmation, “Good. Yeah, good.” Then proceeded to completely ignore the other man’s heavy implication of _‘Fuck off,’_ “No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance, except...” Jaskier’s grin widened, “..for you. Come on.”

The man sat there with an indifferent expression, a hard line on his mouth. 

“You don’t want to keep a man with..” _-enough power to level the Continent-_ , Jaskier faltered, “...bread in his pants waiting.” He paused awkwardly before sliding into the seat, “You must have some review for me. Three words or less.” He couldn’t help inching forward in anticipation.

Finally, a gruff voice spoke, “They don’t exist.” 

Jaskier stared momentarily at him in confusion. “What don’t exist?”

The man’s expression didn’t change. “The creatures in your song.”

Jaskier actually felt offended. He knew without a doubt that they existed. There had been several incidents where he almost lost a limb to them!

_Or had they already gone extinct? Oh gods, how long had it been?_ Jaskier couldn’t help feeling mortified at the realization and he could only hope the embarrassment had not shown on his face. If the other man noticed his distress, he made no show of it.

“And how would you know?” He said defensively. No normal person would keep up to date on monsters unless...

A memory clicked into place and Jaskier’s jaw was aching from his grin as he peered at the very familiar medallion around around the other man’s neck, “White hair, big, ol’ loner, two very...”A quick glance to his left, _Yup, very scary_ , “very scary-looking swords.”

The man rose from his seat, a gloved hand reaching out to shake the last coin out of a worn leather pouch. “I know who you are,” Jaskier continued. Gloved hands slung a pack around broad shoulders. “You’re the Witcher, from the School of the Wolf.” He said triumphantly even as the witcher made his way out the door.

Jaskier followed him, smiling and with a renewed spring in his step. The witcher exhaled softly, annoyance clear in his eyes, but made no move to stop him. Jaskier’s morning was looking up after all.

* * *

Looking back on the situation, Jaskier felt rather embarrassed that he had been so easily crippled by a _rock_ of all things, but in his defense, his guard was down! Even then, Jaskier had long stopped casting protection wards on himself.

Why did he stop casting wards? Well, as it turns out, when you get sliced through by a sword and heal instantly, you are immediately labeled as a monster and chased out of town. No matter what one uses to justify it, it’s a horrific thing to witness and Jaskier _definitely_ did not want to relive that experience again. Blending in with humanity would require being able to bruise and get hurt, and it wasn’t as if any of it was going to kill him anyway.

He could get knocked out, poised, or burned like any other human. And like any other human, those wounds healed slowly. But they always healed. _Always_. No matter how slow the healing process was, Jaskier always healed. When he had his arm sliced off by a bear for the first time, it had taken nine months for the limb to grow back. It was slow and painful and _so goddamn itchy_. But grow back it did.

So when he awoke, the pounding headache awaiting him was as relentless and vicious as a lion clawing her way through easy prey. He reached up, hissing slightly when he came into contact with a sluggishly bleeding cut on his forehead. It had been covered with a small bandage, but the wound had yet to close fully.

Waking up alone was even more terrifying because he was most certain that he had a very large, if albeit grumpy, travel companion with him. Said companion was currently nowhere to be found. He looked around, eyes flitting around the deteriorating hut, but found nothing.

Realizing there were no ropes binding him, Jaskier rose from the dingy pad. But before he could even walk towards the door, which was actually just a hanging cloth, a man stepped through.

No. Not a man. An _elf_. 

Jaskier wanted to cry. Seeing pointed ears and fair hair almost brought him to his knees. He remained shakily standing instead.The morning’s dream felt more like a deathly omen now. “I apologize for the harsh reception, our friend did not know who you were, Nieśmiertelny.” The elf said. The Elder Speech flowed smoothing from his lips and Jaskier’s heart throbbed.

Jaskier choked softly. _How long had it been since he heard that title?_ “Don’t-” He managed to croak, “I go by Jaskier now.” 

The elf regarded him strangely before nodding slowly. “As you wish, Jaskier.” The elf smiled hesitantly before continuing, “My name Filavandrel aén Fidháil of the Silver Towers and House of Feleaorn of the White Ships.” The bard nodded numbly. “But I am now the King of The Elves.” His voice sounded weary, as if he held the weight of the world on his slim shoulders.

Jaskier looked around once more at the broken-down hut, so worn down it’d look to collapse at any moment. He looked at the tattered clothes that the elf wore, stitching running down the sides in disarray as if mended improperly again and again. “Not by choice though,” Jaskier said softly.

Filavandrel shook his head, “No, not by choice. By necessity.” _I should have been there._

“I’m sorry.” Jaskier blurted.

The elf looked surprised, if a bit confused. “What for?”

_For everything._ Jaskier didn’t know what to say, all the lives he couldn’t save and those that marched to their death still lingered on his mind centuries later. 

“If anything, I should be thanking you.” The king murmured and it was Jaskier’s turn to be confused. “My father told me about what you did. About what happened in Shaerrawedd.”

Jaskier took a shaky breath. He remembers that day _very well_. He had saved every child, because that’s what they were to him; precious children, that he could find, portaling them to safety and healing their wounds. But even he could not bring someone back from the dead; _Gods damn him_ , he tried. Aelirenn had gasped weakly in his arms as her life faded. He had tried so hard, just to keep her life flickering, but she had died right there in the smoldering battlefield.

Gone in his arms. The little girl he had so often hoisted up to ride on his shoulders so easily wiped from existence; her blood staining his hands. The iron stench of it, something he had never hoped to learn, was now an unforgettable miasma in his mind. Her dying wish; “ _Don’t let them take our home, d-don’t let them take Shaerrawedd_ ,” would be the last words to ever grace her fair lips.

Jaskier had razed it to the ground. 

With tears streaking down his face, his magic shredded apart marble pillars that were as high as the Elder trees themselves. Chunks of rocks and gravel flew without abandon for miles. Black tendrils of Chaos ripped through the stone pathways that he had walked countless times before. The earth itself cracked open with Jaskier’s grief, swallowing up priceless libraries and burying centuries of treasured knowledge safe within the soil. He had screamed in anguish, an unimaginable pain ripping through his heart as he tore everything he’d ever loved to the ground. 

Magic that he’d never use to hurt, to cause pain, took the form of an unending white blaze as human armies watched from the hills, horror and fear seeping in waves across the troops. 

_Cursed_. They would say afterward, as rumors flooded the Continent. _The elven homeland was cursed._ No human would ever set foot near it again. 

In the ruins, Jaskier’s howls had reduced to pitiful cries, and then finally to hoarse whimpers. He had curled up in the ashes, at what used to be the center of the palace, sobbing there for weeks as white-lillied flowers bloomed slowly in the blackened dirt.

“I destroyed your home.” He whispered.

Filavandrel shook his head vehemently. “No,” His voice rang with conviction, “You saved it. The humans would have taken it if not for you.”

He couldn’t help the tears threatening to fall, “It’s not what she would have wanted.” 

A variety of emotions passed through Filavandrel’s eyes and he looked away. Jaskier expected words of anger, of rage, of unrelenting sadness. It would be deserved after all had been done. Instead, he was greeted with a soft voice. “You know, Dana Méadbh spoke to me.” The elf said. 

Jaskier’s jaw clenched. _Of course she did_. When Jaskier had pleaded to the goddess for her guide, she had left him unanswered. But now that it was time to condemn him, here she was.

“She’s grateful, you know? You don’t realize how many lives you saved that day.” Filavandrel said. 

The man let out a cold bark of laughter. “I could have done more.”

“Perhaps.” The king acknowledged. “But it was not your war to fight.” The elf paused, peering at the man curiously before glancing away again. He opened his mouth to speak, hesitating slightly, as if deciding what to say. “You’re not what I expected.” He admitted, almost sheepishly. From anyone else it would seem like an insult but for Filavandrel, it was simply an observation.

A weak laugh escaped Jaskier as he motioned down at his clothes, “I’m sort of a bard now.” Filavandrel let out a faint chuckle. 

“Nieś-” A pause. “Jaskier. Your...companion is in a different hut, I can take you to him.” Jaskier said nothing, grateful for the change in conversation. He followed Filavandrel through the village and the inexpertly constructed planter boxers, the elves nodding respectfully as he passed. He could see the hovel up ahead but before they went further, Jaskier stopped.

“Wait.” He said, voice still slightly rough with emotion. Filavandrel turned around, stopping completely before facing him. He watched, intrigued, as the bard reached down into the dirt, gathering it up in his hand before squeezing it tightly. He could feel the king recoil as he felt magic crackling through the air. When Jaskier opened his palm, a marble ring, one so white it seemed to glow in the sunlight, laid in his hand. “Here.”

The elf’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“This will take you to the Libraries.” Filavandrel’s eyes widened and his eyes shot down at the offered trinket.

“I-I had thought...that they had all been lost.” He whispered reverently. 

Jaskier shook his head. “I buried them.” The king took the ring gently, holding it in both hands as if it would suddenly shatter before him. “Just wish to be there, and this ring will take you there. But now is not the time for revenge. It is a time of planning, the libraries will help you. Farming, medicine, magic; it’s all there. But you need to run. You must rebuild, get stronger.” Those words, now centuries apart from when he first said them, were greeted with a far different expression.

Filavandrel gave a watery chuckle. “That’s what your friend said too.” He said, gesturing towards the hut before them, where they could hear shouting from inside. “He was a bit difficult to subdue, so we had to tie him up.” Jaskier frowned but said nothing.

Chaos greeted them as they walked inside, but Jaskier barely got to look before he was shoved unceremoniously into a dirt wall. His head hit the surface with a loud smack, earning a loud, “Fuck!” and a grunt of pain. 

“Stay behind me.” The voice was quiet, murmuring so softly that Jaskier barely heard it. Blinking owlishly, the bard stared at the massive wall of muscle before him, a physical barrier between him and the elves. The ropes wrapped around the man’s chest, restraining his arms, did nothing to subvert the intimidating glare Geralt directed towards them.

Jaskier was stunned.

When was the last time _anyone_ had protected him? Gods, had anyone ever _tried_? Jaskier could feel his heartbeat, every single pound in his chest echoing like drums of war. Each turbulent rise and fall of his breaths felt like it would be the one that would sweep him away. Despite the cold indifference the witcher seemed to constantly exude, here he was, protecting a stranger. Jaskier couldn’t help the smile that graced his lips.

“I’m okay, Geralt.” Amber eyes flickered to him briefly, disbelief evident in them. 

“We’re leaving.” Geralt said, and the elves made no move to stop him.

“Let us cut the ropes at least,” One of them said, reaching out. Geralt backed up further, his back sandwiching Jaskier tighter between two immovable objects. The bard let out a shout of protest but it was clearly ignored. 

“Oh for the love of- I’ll do it. Throw the knife over here.” Jaskier said, both exasperation and fondness seeping into his voice. A short blade was tossed near his feet, and the bard had to push the man in front of him away slightly to reach down to grab the blade. It was, as expected, inexpertly sharpened so it took a few seconds longer to saw away the ropes binding his friend. “There now, all better.” He said, as the ropes fell away.

The witcher grunted in affirmation but his guard hadn’t lowered. The elves shuffled back, letting the two pass through the door and through the camp. Even as they returned the witcher’s horse to him, Geralt had remained tense. 

Just before they set off to leave, a young elven woman approached Jaskier. Toruviel, the one who had captured him along with the witcher stood before him. In her hands, a beautifully crafted elven lute stared up at him. “I..” She looked embarrassed, “I broke your old one. I’m sorry.”

“I couldn’t. This is far too precious a gift.” He tried to reason. 

“You are a bard, are you not?” Filavandrel said, smiling at him. The marble ring around his finger sparkled in the sun. “Every bard needs a lute, Jaskier.”

Jaskier nodded, “Thank you,” He stared at the group that had come to see them off. What were once soft elven features had become weathered and rough. Smooth hands that had once been used to play harps in grand palaces were now littered with calluses from working in the fields. But despite their thin bodies and dirty clothes, a new fire blazed in their eyes.

Jaskier waved as they left, committing each face to memory; it would be a long time before they were to meet again after all. As the duo walked down the mountain, it was, surprisingly, Geralt that broke the silence. “What did they do to you?” 

The bard hummed softly, strumming the lute idly. “We just had a chat.”

Geralt shot a look of consideration at him.

Jaskier smirked, a smug grin adorning itself on his face. “What? You worried?”

The look of consideration faded. Geralt snorted, heels digging into his horse, as he turned away. Jaskier chuckled softly as he trailed behind him.

_Truly, a good man after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god! My friend drew me [fanart](https://www.instagram.com/p/B_9B4JPlVjY/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link) for my super indulgent fic! I'm crying I love how she drew long-haired Jaskier, I can't believe she actually did it. Please go check her out she did amazing.


	3. Zostać

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm, in which Jaskier has visions and dreams and it's difficult to see which is which. Perhaps next time, he'll be more aware of his surroundings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking of adding a POV from Geralt for Jaskier during their travels, what do you guys think? Please let me know! It's sometimes hard to insinuate what Geralt is feeling because half the time the man's just grunting! You gotta give me something guy! Stop grunting! Also, this is the chapter where Geralt 100% does a princess carry for Jaskier. 100%.

Jaskier does not cast protection wards over Geralt.

Correction; Jaskier does not cast _too many_ protection wards over Geralt. Witchers are resistant to magic, but it does not mean that they are completely immune. Plus, Geralt can take care of himself; the bard knows this. However, as he watches the witcher dodge another caustic spray of acid that _almost barely misses him_ , Jaskier strongly reconsiders how many wards would count as _too many_. 

From his safe spot behind the tree, the bard can see the throng of hideous, disgusting flowers, snap and spit at the white-haired man. Like exceptionally ugly and bloodthirsty sundews, they had looked indiscernible to Jaskier to the rest of the ghastly forest. But the moment they had stepped off the path, Geralt had grabbed him by the scruff and tossed him abruptly behind a tree.

“Stay there,” he had growled, before unsheathing his silver sword. 

So now, here he was, watching his very good friend darting and slicing with unnatural precision. Jaskier had to admit, it felt nice being protected. Everytime Geralt had stepped in front of Jaskier, be it for a monster or for a man, warmth would spread from the bard’s chest all the way to the tips of his fingers. It _may_ have made him just a teeny weeny little bit more reckless. Just a little.

Watching Geralt fight was both worrisome and exhilarating. On one hand, Jaskier could not help being worried for his friend’s safety. On the other, watching him dive and strike was always breathtaking. His form was restrained, emotion carefully held in check, despite the snarl on his face. The witcher was clearly very experienced, knowing when to pull back as wide jaws snapped forward and when to strike when they reeled back.

Magic curled around Geralt’s hand, fire racing from his palm towards another flower, whose petals had opened up to reveal a gaping maw. It shrieked hideously as it was engulfed with flames, the other blossoms hissing as they shrank back from the blaze. 

_Igni_. Jaskier mused. Geralt had explained it to him once before, as he used it to kindle the campfire. Some signs were casted by arranging one’s fingers in a specific way he had said, while others had to be inscribed onto a surface for magic to be cast. Jaskier thought it was fascinating. The man had never paid attention to how people used magic, but following Geralt these few years had made him curious.

He had never expected it to be so different. If Jaskier wanted to summon fire, no sign nor sigil was needed. He simply thought, and then it was there. It felt as natural as breathing or blinking and remained a stoic reminder of how inhuman he was. 

_Chaos requires sacrifice_. Someone had said that to him a long time ago. Their face had faded with time, but their conviction in their words had not. Jaskier had laughed right then and there, for he was there before those rules had even been written.

A few bulbs plunged into the dirt below, only to emerge behind the witcher and be slain with his sword. The monster plants dropped like flies as the witcher hacked and burned them away. Their corpses sagged into the dirt, limp vines littering the earth. Jaskier was almost dismayed when the last flower fell but he still clapped enthusiastically, even as the man’s back was turned. Geralt’s shoulders shifted with exertion, breaths coming out a bit heavier as he pulled his sword from the lump of plant mush. Throughout the fight, the bard’s eyes had never left the witcher’s impressive form. 

Which was probably why the shifting soil behind him went unnoticed. 

As Geralt turned towards him, Jaskier was able to see golden eyes widen, an unfamiliar emotion behind them, before searing pain overtook him. It bloomed from his shoulder and spread through his body as he let out a bloodless scream. He fell forwards onto the dirt, body convulsing as agony swept through his bones. Jaskier saw flames dance above his head, heard a dull thud, and then felt warm hands grasping him tightly. He heard someone shouting his name, but his senses felt dulled, both sound and sensation fading away into numbness.

 _I’m okay_. He tried to say, but it came out slurred and barely coherent. His vision was already blurring, shapes blending into odd blobs of color. _Gods, Geralt was going to be worried_. Jaskier knew he would be. He was too good of a man not to be. 

“-ay awake!” Someone was shouting. Jaskier felt himself being hauled up, a warm hand on his back bleeding through his numb senses, another one under his knees. He did what he could, nodding slightly against a broad chest. Pain rushed through his body as it was moved and he couldn’t keep the groans of pain from escaping.

It felt like hours had passed before he was laid down on a bed. Everything passed by in a blur; Jaskier saw a black cat the color of the midnight sky, and then the cat turned into the old woman, then that woman morphed into the safety of familiar amber eyes. He felt so tired, so when a gruff but soft voice commanded, “Sleep,” Jaskier smiled gratefully and finally closed his eyes. 

* * *

_Azure eyes stared into foreboding blackness. Darkness had consumed Jaskier’s senses, taking them in a stranglehold, squeezing life and blood from his lips. Like tar, it clung to his pale arms and legs, dragging him down. It ate up everything in its wake, giving no mercy in it’s warpath._

_Ahead of him, just in the distance, the bard could see the brightest light he’d ever seen. Such a pure white, it glowed like fire in the horizon. The distance did nothing to starve the heat blazed from the lone flame. He trudged forward, the darkness clinging to him in webs like the blackest silk. His hand was outstretched, the inky tendrils polluting his skin. No matter how far he walked or how hard he reached, the distance never changed._

_The pull of the shadows had reached his thighs, coiling around them as it tugged him down to his knees. Ahead of him, he could see the light retreating, before it finally disappeared, in the distance._

_“No! Please, don’t go!” He wailed, his voice muted by the weight of the murky atmosphere. Jaskier could hear people speaking but their voices were muffled, like he’d been submerged under water. Couldn’t they hear him shouting? His pleas fell on nothing and he realized the voices had suddenly gone quiet._

_The crushing silence was more oppressive than the unending darkness._

* * *

The first sensation Jaskier felt in the waking world was the ice-cold sensation of a wet rag gracing his chest. He groaned in protest, his body not responding like he wanted it too. Everything still seemed too foggy, too hazy, too dark. Jaskier hated his dreams, visions, memories, nightmares, or whatever fuck else one would call them. He’d never been able to tell the difference. 

Despite his grogginess, Jaskier’s vision was relatively clear and he managed to crane his head down to stare at the warm hand wiping his sweat away. He followed the hand to an arm, and finally to the worried eyes of an old woman, her hair tucked neatly behind her in a shawl. Strands of gray snaked their way through her auburn bangs and warm brown eyes blinked confusingly at him.

“You’re awake.” She looked shocked. Her voice was soft and gentle, with a rasp that came with old age. “You shouldn’t be awake yet.”

 _You’d be surprised_. He tried to say. “Yurbeeesurr..” is what came out instead. She shushed him, frowning in disapproval. From the corner of his eye, Jaskier could see a small black cat laid out on the rug. It stretched lazily, one foot in the air as it cleaned it’s stomach. As if it had noticed him staring, it stopped in its motions, eyes narrowing in what looks like distaste. 

“Don’t try to speak. The poison is still in your body.” Jaskier tried to nod, but he was pretty sure his head simply rolled to the side. The cloth left his body and the bard heard the light splash of water before she laid it on his feverish forehead. She leaned back in her chair at his side staring curiously at him.

“I have no idea how you are alive,” The woman shook her head wearily and Jaskier could only groan in response. _I’m full of surprises_. “That poison should have killed you, I’d seen full grown mares dead with less.” Her gaze softened. “You’re a lucky one.” The cat meowed in agreement.

 _Lucky would be a nice way of putting it. Geralt says I have-_ Jaskier’s thoughts stuttered. He shifted as much as he could, but he saw no witcher in sight. Had he already left? The bard tried to keep his hopes up, it had been years since Geralt had left without him. That phase should have already been worn down by Jaskier’s undefeatable persistence. 

Well...that and tracking magic. 

Geralt wouldn’t leave him behind. Would he? He knew how much Jaskier hated that; the bard made sure to sulk about it for days when he’d caught up. Jaskier hated getting left behind. 

He had _always_ been left behind. 

Nevertheless, he tried speaking again, even as his throat burned in protest. Geralt. He tried to say. “Gehrul” His hoarse voice croaked. _Close enough_.

The woman’s frown deepened, clearly annoyed that he’d ignored her instructions on not speaking. “You asking about the witcher?” Whatever pathetic motion Jaskier made with his head was enough for the woman to answer. 

“He’s not here.”

Jaskier’s heart plummeted.

 _He left_. A traitorous voice whispered in his head. _Everyone always leaves_. Jaskier wanted to cry out in frustration. His chest felt empty, hollowed out and not from the pain in his shoulder. Rationally, he knew he should quickly heal himself so that he could catch up with that white-haired brute and give him a proper scolding, but...

 _I thought we were friends_. Another small voice said quietly. The man couldn’t help feeling a little betrayed. 

A soft tap to his head brought Jaskier out of his thoughts.

“Are you even listening to me?” The old woman’s voice sounded exasperated. She had been talking and Jaskier hadn’t heard a word of it other than, ‘He’s not here.’ The healer had already risen, halfway out the door before repeating herself, “Methline, save me. Bard, like I said, your witcher is not here. He went to go take care of a small drowner problem we’d been having but he’ll be back. Stop lookin’ like a kicked kitten.” 

Jaskier’s heart sung. 

_He didn’t leave!_ Emotion welled up inside him. The cavern that had opened up inside Jaskier's heart was now filled to the brim with warmth. _He stayed!_ Like liquid sunshine, it poured through his veins and through his bones, sending a familiar tingling feeling through his fingertips. 

It would be the first time Geralt stayed. It’d be the first time _anyone_ had stayed. Jaskier sighed, smiling slightly, before sinking back into the softness of the bed. He’d close his eyes for just a moment, just until Geralt came back. Then they could set off to the next town. 

Together.

* * *

_Azure eyes stared at the rising sun; it had barely peaked over the horizon and only one or two rays of light split across the skyline. Those eyes moved over cracked balcony walls, watching two figures draw their blades. One was male, older, with rugged chestnut hair and a single scar spearing through his right eye. The other was female, considerably younger, and her snow-white hair was pulled loosely behind her; light wisps of hair fell past her eyes. Their faces were a bit blurry from this high up, but he knew who they were._

_“You think this’ll be the day she beats Lambert?” Jaskier said, leaning back into the warm, but clothed, chest behind him._

_“Hmm. No.” The man replied as he rested his head on the bard’s shoulder. A cozy arm encircled his stomach, pulling him closer in the embrace. Jaskier laughed softly, reaching one hand up to stroke the soft hair spilling down next to his cheek. The sunlight bounced off soft ivory strands, creating a halo-like effect around the other man’s head. “Sounds good when you laugh.” The man breathed, as he snuck a chaste kiss on Jaskier’s jaw. “You should do it more often.”_

_As if to emphasize his point, the man pushed his nose into Jaskier’s neck, forcing a sudden high-pitched snort from the bard. He grabbed at the arm around his stomach, trying fruitlessly to escape the ticklish embrace. “Haha! S-Stop, you!” The bard managed to gasp out as he was assaulted mercilessly by a very determined adversary._

_Jaskier could feel chapped lips smile against his neck, light stubble gently brushing over his skin, gracing over in an apologetic kiss. His laughter subsided and he tucked himself back into a more snug position. Leisurely, he stretched out one arm towards the rising sun, and almost immediately, another larger, more heavily scarred, arm joined it. Callous fingers, rough from years of fighting, brushed against his own and held his outstretched palm in a warm embrace._

_Magic danced across their fingers, leaving their joined hands in waves of amber mist. It seeped into the ground and spread through the air, falling like sparkling dust over the mountain. “Does it feel strange?” Jaskier’s voice was abnormally quiet, knowing the other man could feel the incredible power thrumming through their hands._

_There’s a brief pause where the man doesn’t speak and Jaskier begins to worry that he will not answer. Instead, the man hums again and the bard can feel the man shake his head. “It feels like you.” He murmured, arm tightening possessively around Jaskier’s waist._

_“It’s always just...felt like you.”_

_At the edges of the castle, the walls resume repairing themselves. Moss fell away from the aged stone bricks, and the cracks in the foundation filled, grey fluid-like stone coursing through the walls like veins. It would take time to repair their home, but they had all the time in the world._

* * *

When Jaskier woke for the second time, the pain he had first experienced before had ebbed in a dull soreness instead. His latest dream left him feeling sleepily soft, the memory of it already fading away. He could not even remember the man’s face when waking, only the warmth of his embrace.

It took Jaskier a few moments to register what had woke him. The noise that drew him out of his slumber is unmistakable. The familiar sound of a blade being sharpened echoing quietly in the background. He laid still despite the dryness in his mouth that screamed for water. It was strangely soothing to hear the witcher using his whetstone in the quietness of the room. As Jaskier kept his eyes closed, he wondered if he could freeze this moment and condense it somehow.

“I know you’re awake.” _Of course he did._ Jaskier cracked an eye open to glare at the witcher for ruining his peace. Geralt had stopped sharpening his blade, turning slightly in his chair by the fireplace, to place it back in it’s sheath. 

Jaskier tried to speak but what came out of his mouth sounded more like a dying frog. Wordlessly, Geralt rose from his seat, one hand taking a small cup of water, before walking over to him. The bard nodded in silent thanks as the other man handed him the cup. Clear, cool water poured through his throat, spilling slightly, in his eagerness. 

“That wasn’t your first encounter with archespores poison.” It was more of a statement than a question, so Jaskier merely shrugged. He’d never encountered such violent vegetation before, but if he had, perhaps it had been too long. “Hmm.” His voice was quieter than usual, even for the normally silent witcher. Geralt’s face remained impassive, but his golden eyes lingered longer than usual on Jaskier’s prone form.

Despite the sluggishness in his bones, Jaskier managed a faint smile. “Don’t look so worried.” He rasped; his voice barely a whisper.

The other man simply stared, brow furrowing slightly. “I’m not worried.” 

Jaskier's grin only widened. “Yes, you are.” He said, dragging each word out as glee filled his voice. Just as Geralt opened his mouth to refute him, Jaskier let out a hacking cough and immediately, the witcher was by his side. His hand hovered uncertainly over the bard’s back before descending to rub soothing circles as Jaskier wheezed. 

When his airways finally cleared, he looked up expectantly at the other man. “So, when’re leaving?” 

Geralt looked at him in disbelief. “After you healed.” 

“I can heal on the road.” Jaskier said defensively. _He could._ “Besides, I know how much you hate staying in one place.”

The witcher looked away. “It’s fine. Need to stock up anyways.” Now _that_ was a bold-faced lie if he’d ever heard one. Jaskier merely gaped at him and the witcher continued to look more and more uncomfortable. “Is there anywhere you need to go?” The other man finally said.

“Me?” Jaskier said, still dumbfounded.

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “...Is there anyone else here?” He said, amusement tingeing his voice.

“You’re asking me if there’s somewhere I want to go? Like, to travel?” Geralt looked constipated, staring at him with such intensity. 

“Yes.”

“You never ask me where I want to go.”

Geralt sighed, “If you don’t-”

Immediately, Jaskier jolted up. “No! I mean, Yes! Yes, there’s someplace I want to go.”

The witcher stared pointedly at him as if to say, _‘Well? Spit it out.’_

“Cintra.” He said, a bit breathless. It had been ages since he’d been to Cintra, he had a good friend there and it’d been a long time since he’d seen them. Jaskier wasn’t one to ever kick a gift horse in the mouth and he jumped at the opportunity. 

Geralt already looked like he was already regretting his offer but he simply grunted. “South of Transriver and Sodden.”

Jaskier nodded eagerly. “Yaruga flows into the sea right at the capitol.” He leaned back against the pillow. “It’s a beautiful place.” He said wistfully. The bard could see the other man eyeing him; quiet intrigue lighting up his golden eyes. Jaskier knew Geralt wouldn’t ask if given the choice, so he continued speaking. “I have a friend there. It’s been a while and I wanted to see how they were doing.”

The witcher hummed, nodding once. “We’ll head in that direction after you’ve healed.” He said, turning to prod the fireplace. Jaskier felt a slight apprehensive cloud over his burst of joy. The witcher was being much more amiable than normal and he could only wonder if...

“You aren’t going to leave, are you?” He hated how small his voice sounded.

Geralt’s head snapped back to him and he gave a single curious blink. “What.” 

Jaskier could not help looking away, fiddling absentmindedly with the thread of the blanket. “You’ve done it before.” The bard held no criticism in his tone, only resignation. He had his hopes up since the witcher hadn’t left immediately, but previous history had given him little comfort. Exhaustion gripped him, almost suddenly, and he became very aware of how tired he really was.

There was a long silence before the witcher spoke. “I’ll stay.” He couldn’t see Geralt’s face, staring resolutely at the bedspread instead, but his voice sounded much softer than usual. On any other man, it would be almost gentle.

“Thank you,” Jaskier murmured, his eyelids drooping even as the words left his lips. Perhaps it was the weariness coursing through his veins, or the relief that Geralt would not leave, but the next words that left Jaskier’s mouth were unfiltered by his brain.

“You’re the first one to stay.”


	4. Błota

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt bites off more than he can chew. Luckily, Jaskier is there to pick up the slack!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier gets to be a badass. That's it. That's basically it. Too bad Geralt doesn't get to see it.

The sun was high in the air, waves of heat bearing down on the worn trail. It was a clear day, and the quiet of the forest was only broken by the sound of hooves and feet. The heavy rainfall from yesterday left many traces in the dirt and the bard could feel the mud still drying on his shoes. Despite the mud the rain left behind, the crisp air of fresh rainfall filled the roads and the dewdrops left behind decorated the bushes like diamonds against soft green beds.

Jaskier hummed quietly to the tune of Roach's hooves hitting the rough gravel path. His shoulder was still sore from the incident with the archespores, but had long since healed. They had stayed in the town for much longer than he expected, but the locals were more than welcoming. Medicine and food spurred Jaskier's recovery and here they were now, on the road to Cintra.

He could feel the ache in his soles from walking, but made no motion to complain. Their destination had already come into view and the bard could hardly contain his excitement. 

Ahead of them lay a marvelous city, with towers rising as high as the clouds themselves. Equally tall walls loomed over them as they approached the gate. The bard glanced over to his friend, whose face was set with grim determination. 

“We can turn back if you want.” 

Geralt stopped abruptly, eyes darting over towards Jaskier. His face remained impassive, but the tension in the man’s shoulder did not go unnoticed. Geralt hated going into large cities, too much attention often led to an equal amount of trouble. 

“It’s fine.” The witcher said, as his heels dug into Roach’s side. She snorted derisively but pushed forward nonetheless. Jaskier stared unconvincingly at his back before running to catch up with him. 

As they approached the front gates, the pair immediately noticed how the guards tensed; their hands tightening on their weapons as they surveyed the two. Before Jaskier could even speak, one of the guards, with brown tufts of hair peeking out of his helm, spoke in a shaky voice.

“We don’t want your kind here.” The words were said with vehmance, despite the man’s uneven tone. Geralt sighed; his face emotionless as if he expected no different. Throughout all his travels, treatment like this was common to him.

However, now, he had a _Jaskier._

The bard sauntered forward, face set in a fierce expression. “Do you know who this is? This isn’t just any regular witcher!” Jaskier spread out his arms in emphasis. “This is Geralt of Rivia!” The bard knew that if he turned around, he would see Geralt with an exasperated expression. There was a specific face that Jaskier had deemed the ‘Jaskier’s doing it again’ expression. It had started happening more frequently whenever the bard would burst into song about his companion. 

The guards’ looks of hostility faded into confusion.

“Like in the song?” 

He smiled, “The very one.” Years had passed since their first meeting and Jaskier was dedicated to making good on his promise. He had sung the witcher’s praise and surprisingly, the songs had spread like wildfire and there was no town that had not heard the tales of Geralt of Rivia. After all, such a good man did not deserve the treatment that he was so often given. 

The men’s gazes were still wary, but much less unfriendly than before. 

_Good. Now I have their attention._ Monster problems were everywhere after all, even a large city like Cintra would have issues with them. Witchers were always needed, despite the vile insults the people would fling.

“The adventures I could tell! Where would I even begin? The griffin? The strigga? The werewolf?” With each monster Jaskier named, the bard could see their eyes widening further in awe. Suddenly, he gave a dramatic sigh, bringing a single hand to his forehead in false woe. “But alas, we have come to offer our humble services, only to be utter spurned and rejecte-”

The other guard, who had remained silent until now, suddenly blurted,“Can you help us with a monster?” His friend shot him a look of surprise, tugging him back with a harsh whisper. They exchanged a brief and hushed argument, each growing more annoyed by the other. 

Jaskier opened his mouth to speak, hiding a self-satisfied smile, but was interrupted when Geralt, who had dismounted during the bard’s rant, shouldered past him.

“What is it?” 

The guards glanced at each other. “We don’t know what it is, but our mage went out to check on it. And he hasn’t returned.”

“It’s been three days, he should've been back by then,” The other guard butt in, worry clear in his eyes.

Jaskier gave a winning smile, continuing his theatrics. “Fear not, we can assure you that we will return with your friend.” The bard could practically feel the annoyance emanating from his friend as he spoke. Geralt hated these types of contracts after all.

Ignoring the bard completely, Geralt pressed on. “Where is it?” The witcher was so often straight to the point that it made Jaskiers dramatics all for naught! 

“Swamps west of the city. People ‘ave been going missing there.” The man gestured towards the horizon with his spear, nervously shuffling his feet. 

Geralt grunted, holding out a hand for a coin. “Three-hundred.” A fair price, Jaskier reasoned, giving that there had been no information for him to go off of. 

“Two-hundred, and we let you into the city.” The bard’s jaw dropped. A hundred coins?! The toll for the city entrance had to be less than ten! 

Before the bard could protest, Geralt simply nodded. “Done.” He took the bag offered to him before turning back to Roach, ignoring Jaskier’s flabbergasted face. The witcher didn’t even spare him a glance as he lifted himself back onto his trusty steed. 

The bard was still glaring at the two guards when he realized the horse had not moved from her spot, hooves simply shuffling in place. When he glanced over his shoulder, Jaskier was surprised to see Geralt staring straight back at him, a single eyebrow raised as if to say, ‘Well?’ 

Ah.

_He’s waiting for me._

Jaskier hid his expression as a wave of happiness rushed through his chest. He could hardly contain his smile as he quickly walked over to his friend’s side. Both gravel and dirt kicked up behind him in his rush to join Geralt. The witcher, unaware of the impact he’d caused, simply pulled his reins, jerking Roach back on the road.

* * *

Jaskier _hated_ swamps. They always smelled disgusting, the mud and water always ended up caking his shoes, and they were just simply _awful_ to travel through. It was made even worse as the rainfall seemed to have reached this area as well. There was nothing but wet dirt as far as the eye could see. The bard had almost sunk a foot into the mud with one brief step!

Roach had been left behind at the entrance and despite Geralt’s instructions for Jaskier to stay with her, he couldn’t help but follow along, even if the witcher was unaware of his meddling presence. There was something about the whole situation that set him on edge. It set a heavy feeling in his gut, weighing him down like a rock in his stomach. The guards had looked nervous, hiding something behind their fearful glances. 

Something was clearly off.

The bard had made sure to cast a protection ward over Roach; any wandering passerby or monster would not be able to see her, smell her, or detect her presence at all. It was truly a remarkable spell, one that he had spent a few decades perfecting. She did not appreciate this at all of course, simply chewing away at what little grass there was, after smacking Jaskier in the face with her tail.

After casting a brief concealment charm over himself, he rushed to catch up with his friend. The sky had darkened considerably since their journey began; the swamps were almost half a day’s ride away after all. He could see Geralt just a few paces away, dragging his fingers off a tree before sniffing it. 

Jaskier grimaced, silently begging the man not to taste it. It was always unpleasant to watch Geralt while he tracked monsters. Strange substances graced the man’s nose and hands; the witcher seemingly unbothered by any smell or scent. The bard, on the other hand, couldn’t keep himself from gagging. 

Jaskier leaned back against a tree, hand thoughtfully posed under his chin. The strange sensation had not left his stomach and he shifted uncomfortably as he watched his friend. 

_What could have terrified those soldiers so?_ Jaskier wondered as he glanced around. 

Silence greeted him, the bare trees in the bog giving him no answers. The swamp was deathly quiet.

The bard blinked. The swamp was silent. Swamps in particular, with the croaking of frogs and the chitter of bugs, were always loud. It was only another reason they were unbearable places to camp. However, in the middle of mud and dirt, Jaskier could not even hear the single chirp. _But why?_

Jaskier sighed. Human eyes were so useless in times like this.

He closed his cerulean eyes, magic thrummed through his veins as it gathered in his irises. Magic swirled in his eyes like stars in the midnight sky. When they reopened, Jaskier could see miles of caves spanning out deep within the soil. Like a maze, they twisted and turned, one blending into another in a seamless whole. 

Huge clusters of abnormal white rocks lay in pockets throughout the field. Disgust seeped through his body, a bone-chilling nausea sweeping his breath away. Hundreds-no-thousands of giant, spider-like forms raced through the tunnels. 

_Oh shit._

Jaskier knew exactly what they were. Kikimora, the witcher had called them. Like an insult to the gods, they were the filthiest creatures on Earth, repulsive in their resemblance to spiders. The bard was no stranger to these insectoid-like monsters, having seen the witcher slay one or two in their travels. Even the workers should be treated with caution, Geralt had said on night over the fire.

_“Why did we go around?” Jaskier said, as he warmed his hands by the campfire. A smug grin graced his face as he turned towards his friend. “Oh my, did you do it for me? You know how the mud gets in my-”_

_“Kikimora territory.” Geralt interrupted, as he continued skinning the deer for dinner._

_Jaskier stared blankly at him. “So? I’ve seen you fight those things before.”_

_Without a beat, the witcher pulled the rest of the hide off the animal, tossing it to the side for later use. “Those were strays. That was a colony.”_

_The bard snorted. “Like ants? What, do they have a queen too?”_

_“Yes.”_

_Jaskier paused, peering curiously at the man as he divided the portions out from the carcass. “How many are in a colony?” Geralt shoved a chunk of meat on a stick, moving it to the fire. The bard threw his hands up in exasperation, bringing out a bag of spices in a practiced motion. “Gods, I’ve told you. You need to season your food, I’ve no idea how you eat such flavorless meals.” He grumbled, as he dusted the glistening meat with a variety of salts and spices._

_The witcher allowed him to toss his seasonings on before answering. “Tens. Maybe hundreds if it’s a big one.”_

_Jaskier spread out his bedroll, dusting off the leaves that had collected in it’s folds. “How did you know? It looked like a regular swamp to me.”_

_The witcher started sharpening his steel blade. “Dead animal bones. They were everywhere.” He said, eyeing the whetstone closely._

_Jaskier hummed softly, “Do you think you’ll ever fight a colony?”_

_Geralt sighed heavily as he placed his sword down. “Do you ever stop talking?” He shot back, and while his tone was flat, his gaze was warm. Jaskier chuckled, shrugging as he turned the meat._

_“Jaskier.” The witcher’s voice had turned serious, almost suddenly in their conversation. “If you see more than one, run.”_

_Confusion filled the bard’s face. “Why would I do that?” The witcher looked annoyed as he stared back, as if the answer should be obvious. Jaskier broke the gaze to check on their meal, poking it lightly with another stick._

_“You’re there.” The bard murmured, huffing warm air into his clasped hands._

 _Geralt remained silent for the rest of the night._

So they hardly ventured away from their colonies, and almost never approached human settlements. Their territory should have been easily identifiable, with animal bones picked clean scattering the landscape like Geralt had said. The witcher had not mentioned anything dangerous and had spoken of drowners being the most likely suspect in their trek here. Why?

 _There must be something I missed._ With his enhanced vision, Jaskier peered deeper at the strange masses of white surrounding him and a chill raced up his spine. Not rocks. Bones. He whirled around, scanning the floor and a horrifying realization passed through him. Bones, from both animals and humans were scattered all throughout the swamp floor. There had to be thousands of them clumped together in abnormal chunks.

 _How had Geralt not seen these?_ The witcher should have known the moment he stepped into the forest and seen-

Jaskier stepped back, sinking deeper into the wet ground.

The rain. 

That’s why there were no traces. The heavy rainfall from the prior day had soaked the dirt, coating the soil in a thick layer of mud and water and forcing the bones and wood into the mush-like ground.

The witcher didn’t even realize the danger he was in. 

Jaskier cursed violently. He took a quick look at his friend and with a wave of his hand, magic tightened around the witcher’s form. Geralt looked around in confusion at the contact; one hand coming up to feel his medallion. Other than that, he seemed only slightly wary at the sensation. The wards would have to suffice for now while Jaskier was away.

* * *

Magic swirled around his feet, dancing across his skin in fragments of refracting light. It moved like liquid across his body, coating it in a glimmering sheen of protection magic. A faint barrier layered itself over his clothes like a second skin, reinforcing a shield that was unseen by the naked eye. It felt a bit uncomfortable and a bit itchy; it’d been a long time since he’d cast protection magic on himself after all. 

With a light snap of his fingers, Jaskier’s scenery changed. Complete darkness surrounded him as he warped deep into the nest. As he moved, the squelch of rancid sludge beneath him drew up his urge to gag.

_‘He trudged forward, the darkness clinging to him in webs like the blackest silk.’_

Jaskier shuddered, the light hairs on his arms standing up as his skin prickled. The sensation of eyes boring into him alerted every sense he had. 

With a single hand, the bard cautiously ignited a flame on his palm, and was instantly greeted with a thousand snarling kikimora maws. 

Jaskier exhaled softly, “Ah, fuck.” 

They lunged towards him, spittle dripping from their jaws. The bard reacted equally fast, magic coming out almost instinctively at the threat. Energy crackled around Jaskier, ropes of blue lighting coiling around his arms. He slid his hands forward, whips of glowing cobalt cracking through the mass of creatures like a knife through butter. The creatures shrieked, surging forward to fill the gap. 

Sharp teeth sank his shield, and immediately particles splintered off his barrier, plunging into the beast that bit into it. The creature flailed back, it’s piercing howls drawing even more of its brethren through the tunnels. The walls rumbled and shook around them, dust falling from the roof of the cavern from the force of Jaskier’s magic.

Fire ignited in swirling orbs around him, embers flickering down and lighting up the caverns around him. Without hesitation, they were launched into the swarm, setting a sea of flames around the bard. The fire fanned out in ribbons of heat, racing back through the flood. The earth around him formed sharp spikes, before launching themselves outward, impaling anything that stood in their way. Rocks split open underneath large patches of the horde, swallowing them into the ground before closing with a crack.

Adrenaline raced through the bard’s veins, a smile clear on his face as he blew through the horde. Magic coursed through him, his eyes glowing with its intensity. It sang around him, moving as fluidly as water through a river, lighting up the cavern in its glow. 

It was a truly monstrous and fantastic sight. All forms of magic and their various elements burst forth from a single from, as if an army itself had come forth, united, behind a single man. 

It didn’t take long for the flood of creatures to become a trickle and then to nothing at all. The last kikimora had met its untimely death, a large ice spike protruding from its chest cavity. Jaskier breathed heavily, exhausted, not from the magic he had performed but rather, the physical toll from darting around the cavern. 

Most of the creatures had already been disposed of, the remaining ones should be guarding the queen. Geralt should have no trouble navigating the tunnels with the hive cleared out. There would be no way the man would venture further once they found the mage. The man smiled, stretching with satisfaction as he stared at the carnage around him. _As soon as Geralt finds that mage, we should be set._ Jaskier reasoned, as he dusted the dirt of his breeches. With magic still flowing through his eyes, Jaskier glanced around, zeroing in on his friend miles above him. 

Geralt had passed the main cavern entrance, which, due to Jaskier, was devoid of any creatures. The witcher was most likely only a few miles deep in the cave. The bard’s face lit up as he made out unconscious from draped across Geralt’s back. The mess of curly hair hid the man’s face, but the steady rise and fall of his chest gave quiet reassurance.

 _Thank the gods! We can finally go back!_ The bard almost cried out in relief; simply by imagining the comfort of an actual bed. The soft pillows, as gentle as the clouds themselves, and sheets! Just sheets! Maybe if they were lucky, even a duvet! _All Geralt needs to do is head back the way he came._ Then it was off to a comfortable bed and the company of good people.

Jaskier watched him for a moment as the witcher made his wave through the tunnels, wariness evident on his face. A few twists and turns sent the man venturing in a different direction and the bard’s smile faltered. Finally, the bard watched his unsuspecting friend turn into a large, looming cavern. 

Filled with eggs.

Jaskier groaned, dragging his hands down his face. 

“For fuck’s sake,” The bard mumbled, re-casting his concealmen charm on himself. In an instant, he teleported into the room. Geralt was already sprinting in the other direction, barely slowed by the weight of the mage. The second he had stepped into the cavern, a swarm of kikimora greeted him, followed by none other than the queen herself. She hurled herself forward, plowing down her soldiers to attack the intruder. 

Jaskier glanced over at his friend, who had knocked down pillars supporting the cavern with a blast of magic. _Aard._ The bard easily recognized the telekinetic magical push that the witcher so often used. The witcher had used it to clear debris or make a path and in one specific case, Jaskier swore that the man had used it to push him into a lake. Geralt denied this of course, but the bard knew it had to have been on purpose. 

The bard marveled at the ingenuity of the man, using his magic to trap the creatures behind him instead of trying to fight. It would be impossible, especially with the unconscious mage, to fight such a large swarth. Jaskier kept close, trailing behind the other man as he weakened the columns that were out of reach. 

Just as Geralt was escaping the caverns, the queen reached out behind him, barely a hair away before Jaskier blasted her back with a strong gust of wind. When the bard glanced over at his friend, he was grateful to see that the witcher was still facing away, rushing towards the entrance. Dust was falling from the ceiling rapidly, the tunnels quaking in their instability. With another wave of Jaskier’s hand, the pathways rumbled once more as the pillars finally gave way, sealing the caves behind them and leaving a clear path for Geralt to take. 

Still breathless from exertion, the witcher adjusted the man on his shoulder, setting more weight to favor his right side. Sweat dripped from the man’s forehead and he wiped some gore from his chin. The bard scratched his neck idly, expecting his friend to hurry towards the opening.

Instead, Geralt turned to stare straight at the rubble.

Right at Jaskier.

The gaze lasted abnormally long, causing Jaskier to check himself to make sure that his spell was still active. Sure enough, he remained undetectable. 

Despite this, the scrutinizing gaze took a few moments to fade. The man said nothing, a soft _hmm_ , leaving his lips and nothing more. 

The bard watched his friend make it to the entrance before teleporting back to Roach. She stared at him as he reappeared from thin air, decidingly unimpressed as she resumed nibbling at the ground. Jaskier patted her sides fondly and she, of course, ignored him completely.

Magic fell away from her, cascading down like a wave of gold as particles of light trickled off of her. The bard was rewarded with a snort of annoyance.

“Yes, yes, it’s very itchy. I know, I’m terribly sorry.” Fetching the end of a carrot from his bag, he held it out; an apology of sorts. Roach reached down towards it, fuzzy lips nibbling the end before jerking it out of Jaskier’s hand.

She shuffled towards him, huffing softly as she pushed her nose into his face. Jaskier laughed, patting her cheek softly. “Fret not my dear, I assure you that our cantankerous old friend will be back any minute now.” 

As if summoned, a familiar white head made its way through the trees, the other man still slung over his shoulders. Geralt deposited the mage unceremoniously onto the ground; the man falling face first into the dirt. 

As he stepped through, still covered in viscous fluid from the cave, Jaskier could make out a large gash on his left leg. “Welcome back, my very good friend!” The bard glanced worryingly at the wound before speaking again, “Do you need..?”

Geralt ignored him in favor of rummaging through one of the pouches on Roach. Looking relatively unphased by his wounds, the witcher uncorked a bottle of thick green fluid, drinking half before pouring the rest on his wound. The flesh sizzled and hissed; Geralt groaning in both pain and relief. 

Then, he stuck his hand back into the pouch, digging around until he finally extracted a bottle filled with a gleaming red liquid. He tossed it towards Jaskier, who fumbled briefly, nearly dropping it, and motioned towards the mage. 

The bard examined the bottle, it was a healing potion meant for humans. He stared confusingly at it, after all, they had not made any stops recently for the contract. _Why would Geralt have a healing potion for humans?_ These potions would not work on witchers and it looked much too expensive to have been a gift. The witcher seemed to be prepared for any scenario after all, and thus, Jaskier thought nothing more of it. 

When he lifted the mage’s head, Jaskier almost dropped the potion a second time. The man had aged considerably, but there was no miskening those grey-green eyes. 

“Mousesack?!” He exclaimed, eyes wide in surprise.

Geralt grunted, shifting slightly to lean down to look at him.“You know him?” 

“Yes...he’s the friend I told you about.” Jaskier, suddenly remembering the item in his hand, tipped the druid’s head back, allowing the potion to slide smoothly down his throat. 

Almost immediately, Mousessack jerked awake and began to cough violently. Jaskier held up the empty potion bottle, glancing over at Geralt, before opening his mouth. “You are always so surprisingly prepared for things.” Pride flowed through Jaskier’s chest as he spoke and Geralt simply remained as stony-faced as ever. 

“We need to head back before it gets darker.” Geralt said, turning back to unhitch Roach from her spot by the tree.

In the meantime, the druid, who had been slightly disoriented from waking, had gathered his wits enough to stare surprisingly at Jaskier. The bard could only smile warmly at the man as he said, “Welcome to the waking world, my good friend.” 

However, when Mousessacks eyes lit up and he opened his mouth to respond, Jaskier barely had enough time to slam his hands over the man’s lips as a soft, “Juli-” escaped. 

“HA-ha! Yes, it’s me! Jaskier! Your very good friend, Jaskier!” The bard rambled, glancing over his shoulder at Geralt. The man had given no indication he had heard, still turned away and in the process of closing the bags on his mare. “It’s very good to see you again, Mousessack. But I’m sure we can catch up _later_ , back at Cintra.” He emphasised, tilting his head slightly towards the white-haired man behind him. 

Mousessacks eyes widened slightly in understanding, nodding once before Jaskier released him. “...It’s good to see you, Jaskier. Thank you for saving me.” 

Jaskier’s smile returned, “Don’t thank me, thank-”

“Don’t thank me.” Geralt interrupted, pulling Roach over to them. 

Mousessak was undeterred. “Regardless, I shall. Given that you have saved me from what was no doubt, certain death.” The witcher said nothing, but his brow furrowed further in response. Mousesack stood weakly, leaning heavily on Jaskier for support as they made their way towards the hourse.

As he helped Mousesack onto Roach, Jaskier noticed Geralt's gaze lingering on the entrance of the cavern. Piercing amber eyes glared holes into the gaping cave. “Geralt, are you alright?” He called.

Geralt took a moment to reply, but when he did, it was worryingly stilted. “There...was someone else in the cave.” His eyes never left the opening as he spoke. 

Jaskier’s eye twitched, “What? Surely you must be mistaken!” The bard laughed nervously, reaching up to secure the druid into place. _Out of all the times for him to be so observant! Why'd it have to be now?!_ The bard wanted to scream, just barely resisting the urge to slam his head into Roach’s side. 

Mousesack must have seen the expression on his face, politely covering his chuckles with a cough. He eyed Jaskier with a knowing stare, mirth twinkling in his warm eyes. 

Jaskier turned around and found himself face-to-face with a broad chest. Jaskier almost lept a foot in the air in the sudden presence, a very attractive screech leaving his lips as he jumped back. 

Geralt’s intimidating eyes bore down on the bard as he leaned closer. “Did you see anyone enter the forest?” Jaskier shook his head vehemently, giving what he hoped, was a convincing smile. If the witcher noticed his suspicious behavior, he made no mention. 

He did look unsatisfied with the bard’s answer, however, taking the reins in one hand, before walking back on the path. Jaskier breathed a soft sigh of relief, jogging to catch up. At least they would be sleeping in a warm bed tonight. 

Behind them, the cave entrance crumbled, the entrance sealing itself from the outside world. It would take time for nature to reclaim her land and restore the damage done, but it would be done. Like a wave, a sense of life had been breathed into the land, frogs emerged from their hiding spots and birds, that had been circling the skies, landed gracefully on crooked trees. Yet beneath it all, thousands of corpses littered the tunnels, sizzling quietly in the darkness.


End file.
